


Cracked

by Kaosunseen



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Blood, Interesting, M/M, Strangers, poem, smoke, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaosunseen/pseuds/Kaosunseen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You were broken, they say,<br/>Before you broke anybody else.<br/>You cracked a long time ago..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracked

Me, I’m just

A bystander beneath a streetlight,

Mistaking traffic lights for the moon again,

But I know you.

Just like everybody else.

 

You were broken, they say,

Before you broke anybody else.

You cracked a long time ago,

Before any stop sign or metal pole did in your hands.

They say you were born with little sidewalk fissures

Gritty,

Hard in the most crushingly beautiful gray.

 

But it wasn’t like anybody 

Hurt you, or

Did something to make you pick up the tempo of

That quick fist pounding on your ribcage

Like every other blunt or sharp object that jumps into your grasp.

Nobody made you beat that drum of rage

Until your body just couldn’t stop and you didn’t care couldn’t wait couldn’t stop

It’s scary, I bet.

 

It’s scary because you wouldn’t be able to tell me

If I asked you, that is if you wanted to say

Why your mind just didn’t care,

Why you just went right for the jugular that day

At a breakneck pace,

It wasn’t like you knew, 

Or even did anything wrong,

You never meant to.

That scares you, doesn’t it?

 

Is it so much to ask, if I could just stop by for a visit,

Climb up your bruised walls and into your eyes?

I want to see what’s in your house,

If your living room is even _there_ at all, 

After so many tear-downs and altercations.

I’d like to see what’s in your fridge, just for fun,

And also to see if I can fill it with some thought,

Maybe just some fresh orange juice,

Something that sour to keep you awake,

And maybe something sweet and gentle too,

Like a cup of vanilla pudding.

You miss that, right?

 

I feel like you’re shrouded in smoke,

A cliche that seems too perfect coming from my lips,

Looking at the cigarette in yours.

You’re blowing smoke, but not up anybody’s ass,

You tell them straight up to shut up,

That distance made by gray, 

You’ll keep it up,

When they make you angry,

Fuck them up,

Kick in those jeering smirks,

Break their hard laughter

With harder knuckles.

But behind every one you smoke,

I think there’s something more,

Maybe because for you,

It’s never all said.

Never all done.

 

One night or another,

I’ll see you standing out on a high bridge,

Painting the starry sky with billows of smoke.

City-goers and cottagers alike,

They really hate clouds, most of them… 

They might mistake you for one, up there.

You’re not darkening their days,

You never said you wanted to.

Beat them up,

Break their bones,

Bash in their street signs,

You never did any of those things entirely by yourself--

You didn’t choose this life,

And maybe caring hurt too much to fix it.

No one else really offered you a band-aid,

Not even a hand.

But I can only think these things, 

Because me, 

I’m just a bystander beneath a streetlight,

Confusing my clouded, secondhand understanding

With you,

And I don’t know you.

Just like everybody else.


End file.
